#biohazardseries

Leon S. Kennedy had reached the point where everything was above his pay grade. Crouched in the crumbling Raccoon City Police Department, he wondered why his first day felt more like a warzone than a job.

He hid behind an overturned desk, covered in grime, half out of bullets, and fully out of patience. Every few seconds, the air trembled with a thud, thud, thud that made his teeth rattle. Dust fell from the ceiling with each heavy step, snowing onto his hair as if the building itself had given up.

“Okay, Leon,” he muttered. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just another day in hell with a giant murder trench coat who hates hats and emotions.”

The door exploded off its hinges. Mr. X ducked his massive head through the doorway, expression unreadable beneath his wide-brimmed hat. His footsteps echoed like gunshots as he entered, scanning the room with unnerving calm. Leon scrambled backward, bumping into a filing cabinet, gun shaking in his grip.

“WHY WON’T YOU JUST—DIE?!” he yelled, firing three useless rounds that pinged off Mr. X’s chest. The man-mountain barely flinched.

Mr. X tilted his head in what Leon swore was disappointment—like he’d expected better from this rookie.

“Sorry I’m not Chris Redfield!” Leon barked. “You want him, he’s probably punching a boulder somewhere!”

Then, the world exploded.

The RPD’s front doors went flying off their hinges in a thunderclap of fire and debris. Leon dove for cover as a wall of heat blasted through the lobby. When the smoke cleared, Jill Valentine emerged from the haze—gun raised, jaw set, looking like she’d walked through hell and decided it was boring. Behind her, the ground shook again.

Nemesis.

For a split second, time froze. Jill’s silhouette cut through the smoke, steady and unshaken, but Leon’s disbelief was written all over his face—jaw slack, eyes wide, hand frozen halfway to his gun. He blinked twice, trying to decide whether to shoot, run, or ask if this was some Umbrella hallucination gone too far.

The last time he saw that eight-foot-tall walking tank, it had ended in a strange kind of mutual respect. But now—Nemesis was here, shoulders steaming, rocket launcher in hand, eyes glowing red like a demonic Christmas ornament. Jill barely acknowledged him. “Target’s inside,” she said, voice calm, all business. “We move before Umbrella sends backup.”

Nemesis didn’t move. His head turned slowly, mechanical servos whining. His gaze locked onto Mr. X.

Two bioweapons. One lobby. And only one had dared touch his rookie.

The tension was thick enough to chew. Leon froze between them, hands raised like a referee in a deathmatch.

“Guys?” he said, voice cracking. “Let’s not—uh—make this weird?”

Too late.

Nemesis roared, and the sound was catastrophic. Windows shattered. Pigeons fled from the roof. Somewhere, a car alarm started and immediately regretted it. He charged, rocket launcher slung aside, fists swinging like wrecking balls. Mr. X met him head-on. The floor cracked. The walls trembled. Desks flew into splinters. Leon yelped and threw himself behind the reception counter where Jill was already crouched, reloading with perfect calm.

“Please tell me they’re on the same side,” Leon begged.

Jill didn’t look up. “Depends. Are you S.T.A.R.S.?”

“No!”

“Then… maybe.”

A filing cabinet whizzed past their heads, embedding itself in the wall. Leon risked a peek just in time to see Nemesis body-slam Mr. X into the front desk, roaring like a kaiju with a personal grudge. Mr. X retaliated with an uppercut so powerful it sent floor tiles flying like frisbees.

“I think they’re fighting over custody of me!” Leon shouted.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jill muttered, ducking as Nemesis hurled a bench like a frisbee of pure destruction. “He’s probably just territorial.”

“Of me!” Leon cried, indignant.

Nemesis, hearing that, bellowed louder—confirming the theory.

“STAAAAARS!” he thundered, slamming his fist into Mr. X’s face so hard the marble floor cracked like ice.

“God,” Leon breathed, “it’s like watching two refrigerators fight.”

“Correction,” Jill deadpanned. “Two exploding refrigerators.”

The fight spilled into the hallway, shattering glass and toppling filing cabinets. Mr. X ripped up a section of wall and used it as a shield. Nemesis answered by tearing down a statue and using it as a club. Every impact sounded like a thunderclap. Leon and Jill peeked through the chaos as sparks and dust filled the air.

Leon groaned. “If they bring down the building, we’re dead.”

“They are the building,” Jill replied dryly.

Mr. X finally managed to grab Nemesis by the throat, slamming him through a pillar. But Nemesis barely flinched. He twisted, ripped the marble apart, and drove his knee into Mr. X’s midsection. The impact echoed through the entire station. Leon winced at the sound of breaking concrete—and possibly bones.

Nemesis reached for his rocket launcher but paused when he saw Leon, standing frozen by the doorway, covered in plaster dust and regret. His red eyes flickered once, as if in recognition. Then, with surprising restraint, he aimed slightly to the left and fired.

Mr. X went flying through a wall and out into the street, leaving a perfect bioweapon-shaped hole.

Silence followed. Dust settled like snow.

Nemesis stood panting in the wreckage, smoke rising from his shoulders. When he spotted Leon peeking from behind the counter, he made a low rumble that sounded almost… pleased.

Leon blinked. “Uh… hey there, big guy. You win.”

Nemesis grunted. “LEON.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Leon forced a nervous laugh. “You, uh, sure showed him. Definitely the alpha refrigerator here.”

Nemesis tilted his head, then reached down and—with shocking gentleness—picked Leon up by the back of his vest and set him upright. Jill just stared, caught between awe and existential horror.

“I’m gonna need therapy after this,” Leon muttered. “Assuming therapy still exists.”

Nemesis gave a single approving grunt—something that might’ve meant Don’t worry, small human. Then he stomped off through the rubble in pursuit of his airborne rival.

Jill holstered her pistol, raising an eyebrow. “You two are… friends?”

Leon rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s complicated. He saved me once. I think I’m his emotional support rookie now.”

“Right,” Jill said. “You need new friends.”

Leon exhaled with a tired laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Later, Leon limped—still half in disbelief that he’d somehow made a friend out of a bio-weapon. Maybe tomorrow he’d start questioning his life choices, but tonight, he just laughed softly at the absurdity of it all before moving on.

He stepped over debris and shattered glass, spotting something sitting neatly atop a busted desk: a single green herb and a crushed soda can. He smiled faintly. “Miss you too, big guy.”

Outside, thunder rolled—and from somewhere distant came a faint, unmistakable roar.

“STAAAAARS.”

Leon snorted under his breath. “He’s not even chasing her anymore. He’s just vibing.”

And for one absurd moment, amid the ruins of Raccoon City, Leon thought that maybe—just maybe—friendship could survive the apocalypse. Even if it involved bioweapons, property damage, and serious emotional confusion.

Raccoon City wasn’t ready for this level of bromance.